


Better Than Warm Milk

by fizzyblogic (phizzle)



Category: All-American Rejects
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-11
Updated: 2007-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-07 20:31:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Beta by Sky, EL & Fi.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Better Than Warm Milk

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by Sky, EL &amp; Fi.

Chris wakes up in the middle of the night - because it's hot, because it's fucking _August_, because he was dreaming about this sequence that he kind of wants to try out on his crash cymbal, but mostly because he really has to pee.

Mike's arm is slung over him, mouth open and drooling on Chris's shoulder. Their legs are tangled, and ordinarily Chris would enjoy the sight of Mike asleep and sprawled half over him, but he _really has to pee_, so he just moves Mike's arm and otherwise disentangles himself and tries to get up. There is a small scraping sound as their skin parts, and Chris winces.

On his way back from the bathroom, he decides to head downstairs and just try it, just see what this cymbal roll he was dreaming about would sound like, because in the dream they were on stage and, barring the parts where Tyson was dressed as a baby and Tooker was playing lead and Nick was nowhere to be seen, it had felt pretty good to play, and there was this _roll_ and then -- Chris's hands twitch as he tries to remember, as he sits down with his kit and tries to keep as quiet as possible. They've put soundproofing in the walls of this room, but sometimes, especially at night, sound just _travels_. He doesn't want to wake Mike up.

Chris is intent on the cymbal, tapping with his stick in frustration because it's _just not quite there_, when he feels fingertips in his hair and hears Mike's voice, soft and sleepy, "Hey there. Whatcha doin' up?"

Mike leans down and kisses Chris's neck. Chris sighs, "Got something stuck in my head."

"Yeah?" Mike's arms go around Chris's shoulders, and it's so _warm_ and Chris hadn't even realised he was cold until Mike touched him.

"Wanna help me get it out?" Chris turns, leans.

Mike tastes of sleep, and his mouth curves up at the corners when Chris kisses him. "Well hi," he says, and he leans his forehead against Chris's and smiles, and this is why, Chris thinks. This is just, this is why. He nudges Mike's nose with his, and then they're kissing again, Chris lazily running his tongue along Mike's lip. Mike's still smiling. "There's a lot of equipment in this room," he whispers into Chris's mouth. "I think we should move."

"I think you're right," Chris whispers back, and that smile is contageous. He pulls Mike along by the waist, past the door to the TV room, and stops at the door to the kitchen. "Hey, you want breakfast? Is it breakfast time?"

Mike starts laughing, just a convulsion of the shoulders and the smallest amount of sound in it, and says, "It's three thirty in the fucking morning."

"So? Sounds like breakfast time to me." Chris grins at him, yanks him into the kitchen, and Mike is still laughing a little when Chris backs him against the table. Mike's thighs hit it.

"You want me to lie down here? Because I'd have to move the shit on the table," Mike points out. His eyes aren't completely open.

Chris pauses for a second, leaning over Mike bending slowly backwards down onto the surface of the table. He thinks about it, and then he says, "You know what sounds really great right now?"

"What?" Mike's looking up at him, holding on to Chris's upper arms, trying to keep his balance. He's still smiling. The warm kind of smile that comes from looking at someone you really hope doesn't fall into a pit of venomous snakes any time soon.

"Sleep," Chris says.

"You're right," Mike agrees, trying to stand up, "sleep _does_ sound good right about now."

"We should go up to bed. Besides," Chris nuzzles along Mike's jaw and murmurs, "we're going to want to sleep, after, and the kitchen table really isn't comfortable."

"There's lube in the drawer," Mike points out. "Not that I'm _awake_ enough for that, but like, tomorrow morning. We wouldn't have to move."

"Technically, it's tomorrow morning now," Chris whispers, right into his ear. "And _I'm_ awake enough."

"Fuck you, Gaylor, I will fall asleep half way through and you are not coming in my ass without me knowing about it."

"You're so classy," Chris grins, and Mike swats him away. They straighten up, and on the way up the stairs Chris decides there needs to be more skin contact, so he runs his fingers down Mike's arm and takes his hand. "Sure you're not awake enough?"

Mike draws him closer, and they stop at the top of the stairs, standing close. Chris breathes against Mike's chin. "Keep me awake," Mike whispers, and Chris lets his eyes close and breathes in.

"Okay," he agrees, and it's just a few steps to the bedroom, just a few steps and then they're falling in and Mike doesn't taste quite so much like sleep now. Chris kisses a line just underneath Mike's jaw, working his hands in strokes down his stomach. He bunches Mike's pyjama pants in his hands and pulls downward. They easily slide off, and he grins against Mike's neck.

"You're pretty proud of yourself, huh?" Mike smiles. "Think you're pretty smooth."

"I _am_ pretty smooth," Chris replies.

"Smooth my _ass_," Mike counters. He's walking backwards, stepping out of the pool of material at his ankles.

"Oh," Chris narrows his eyes, "_I will_."

"I - what, that doesn't even make any sense," Mike tells him, yanking the sheets down and climbing into bed. He holds a hand out. "You coming in?"

Chris opens the drawer. "Yeah, and then I'm gonna _smoothe your ass_."

"Smooth, not lube," Mike mumbles as Chris slides in and settles above him. Chris smiles and nudges Mike's thighs apart with his knee. "You going somewhere with that?" Mike asks, his eyes closing slowly.

Chris leans down and nuzzles Mike's earlobe with his nose. "Somewhere smooth," he whispers, and Mike giggles.

"The more you say that word," he says, as Chris squeezes lube onto his fingertips and trails them down Mike's chest, "the less sense it makes." He lets his breath out in one long exhalation.

"Hey, hey, don't fall asleep on me now," Chris murmurs, sliding his fingers further down. Mike's mouth falls open as Chris's fingers slide inside him, and Mike arches.

"Keep doing that," he smiles, "and maybe I'll stay awake."

"We could sleep," Chris pushes his fingers slowly in and out, "if you want."

"Fuck you," Mike half-heartedly hits Chris in the side with his arm. "You can't start this and then roll over to fucking sleep."

"But you're sleepy," Chris protests, slathering lube onto his cock with his left hand. He positions himself between Mike's thighs and removes his fingers.

"Fuck," Mike articulates carefully and clearly, "you."

Chris grins. "Tomorrow," he says, and then pushes in. Mike arches off the mattress, biting his lip.

"If you fucking stop, I fucking _swear_." Mike exhales shakily.

"Don't worry," Chris says, ragged, as he slowly drags his cock in and out and wraps his hand around Mike's cock, "I am _not_ going to stop."

"Good." Mike arches his neck and bends one knee, pressing it up to Chris's side.

Chris nuzzles along Mike's neck and licks just under his ear. "Not gonna stop," he repeats, fucking Mike slowly. Their hips undulate in harmony, movements like a wave, higher and higher on the pillows. Chris's hand works and squeezes softly, and Mike breathes out, whimpers.

"Fuck that feels good," he pants, running his palms over Chris's back.

"Fuck yeah," Chris breathes, careful to keep his rhythm steady. He nudges along Mike's cheek and then kisses him, slow and soft. Mike makes tiny sounds in his throat, kissing back, arching and sighing, and Chris breaks the kiss to whisper, "Fuck, Mike, this is kind of killing me."

Mike spreads his legs further. "So go faster," he murmurs, and Chris groans. He drives faster, harder, his hand doubling in speed, and Mike lets out a moan that sounds like it had collected in the back of his mouth. Chris breathes out and fastens his mouth onto Mike's, push and pull and tongues and taste and swallowed moans. Chris can feel pleasure building and pooling at the base of his spine, and he nudges further in, reaching, searching, until Mike's head falls back and his mouth drops open and he wails, the sound sudden and _loud_, "Oh holy _shit_ Chris --"

Chris grins. "Did I hit it?"

"Fuck _yeah_ you hit it, do that again," Mike moans, and Chris bites his lip and snaps his hips in again, twisting his wrist at the same time. Mike arches until the top of his head lies flat against the pillow, and it may just be the hottest fucking thing Chris has ever seen.

He leans down to murmur into Mike's ear, "I'm just gonna keep on doing that until you come," and pushes hard in again. Mike makes a high-pitched sound in his throat.

"Not gonna be long." His voice is strained. Chris licks a line up his throat, starting at his clavicle. Mike exhales, with difficulty. "_Really_ not gonna be -- oh _fuck_," as Chris _shoves_ inside him, harder, and circles the pad of his thumb over the head of Mike's cock. Mike bucks, twice, and comes.

Chris squeezes his eyes shut and comes three seconds later, hand stilled on Mike, their foreheads pressed together. Chris goes still after the last wave of pleasure rips through his entire body.

Mike settles comfortably as Chris collapses onto his chest. "Sleep now?"

"Yeah, Mikey," he smiles, nuzzling the skin under his cheek.

"Your cock is still inside my ass," Mike points out, after a few moments of silence.

"Yeah," Chris says.

"Okay," Mike nods, and Chris waits until Mike is asleep before he pulls out, careful.

"Good night," he whispers, curling around Mike and letting his eyes close again.


End file.
